


Stealing Stuff and Lesbians

by homo_lesbiens



Category: Original Work
Genre: Because They Are Nerds, Coin Collecting And History Nerds, F/F, In Love, They Steal Their Wedding Rings From Homophobes, Who Steal Things, they're lesbians
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 13:03:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16787491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homo_lesbiens/pseuds/homo_lesbiens
Summary: Some Lesbians Fall In Love And Steal Some Stuff, Because They Are Nerds





	Stealing Stuff and Lesbians

_“If you want to truly know a people, Rosie, then you have to look at their money. It’s an embodiment of power, you know—a physical manifestation of influence. It shows what they value, and who has value. Even coins that are thousands upon thousands of years old are still worth something—sometimes even more so now than when they were created; Money is eternal, darling, even where people are not.”_

_“But you’re eternal too, right, Daddy? Because you’ll never go away?”_

_“For you, definitely. Couldn’t get rid of me if you tried, Rosie-Posey. Especially now that you’re my partner in coin-collecting; your mother thinks it’s dreadfully boring and your brother has apparently become ‘too cool’ to indulge his father.”_

_“But coins ARE cool! Like you said. And they can get you stuff, and tell a story, and…..they look cool.”_

_“Well, if they LOOK cool, then they must be cool.”_

_“Like me!”_

_“Like you.”_

********

_If money is eternal, then old money is flakey and unreliable at best, Rosie thinks to herself, years later. So much for never going away._

Her credit cards have been canceled, her debit cards confiscated, and her trust fund was transferred into her brother’s name. She has only the money in her wallet—still a significant amount, to most people, but to her it’s nothing. It’s nothing, compared to the millions that she had at her fingertips hours earlier, just by virtue of being a member of the Chambers family in New York.

But she is no longer a Chambers, because she is a Lesbian, and it has been explained that the two are Mutually Exclusive. 

Her coin purse is full of whatever she could snatch from her father’s collection without him noticing. The coins inside could fetch her enough to live comfortably for _years_.

But Rosemary is not going to trade away the small bit of vengeance that she has stolen away, not for anything in the world.

*****

Two months later, she parts with exactly one coin. A silver denarius, depicting Brutus on one side and two daggers on the other. It was minted after the assassination of Julius Caesar.

It nets her a cool $300,000, and she could have gotten more if she hadn’t had to go through less-than-legitimate means to sell it.

She takes the money, and rents out the cheapest apartment that she can find. She buys clothes—nothing close to what she used to own. Jeans, mostly, with a few slacks thrown into the mix, in case of a job interview or something.

She also goes to a high-end tattoo parlor, with an artist who’s willing to work on the soles of her feet. She gets the Brutus coin etched onto her feet—the heads side on the heel of her left foot, and the tails side on the heel of her right.

With every step, Brutus is crushed against the ground, and that’s how Rosemarie likes to imagine traitors who would abandon their loved ones.

*****

Madeline was not kicked out of her home. She doesn’t love coins and the only person that she holds a grudge against is her junior year history teacher, for making the subject so incredibly boring that she questioned her career choice for the first time in her life.

She taught herself almost everything that she needed to know that year. And every year before that, and every year after—the combination of fierce independence, social anxiety, and a fixation on history and archaeology all led to one thing: many long nights of riveting research and extensive notetaking all by her lonesome, until she knew it all like the back of her hand.

When she was older, and more confident in her existence, she would spend hours at museums, just admiring artifacts and imagining what they’ve been through over the years. Each visit, her hand twitched toward a particularly old or significant piece—but the NO TOUCHING signs, or a guard would catch her eye and she’d be reminded. Of the rules, the consequences, and that her touch would be sure to degrade anything it met.

She would be destined to look, but never touch.

Once, Maddie came across an article about a huge archaeological find from the days of Ancient Rome—ancient pieces of jewelry were being auctioned off, and the stories behind them! Oh, they played out like movies, at first, and then like glimpses into some sort of past life. For a brief, wonderful moment, she was a treasured demigoddess, worshipped by her husband, admired and treasured for who she was; fingers weighed down by gold and gems and silver, a ring adorning every finger.

If Madeline had been born into anything but poverty, with dreams of being anything but a teacher, she may have aspired to buy one of those rings. Might have aimed high and worked hard to eventually put in a bid, or track something down. But even daydreamers can be anchored to the ground, and Madeline would never have hundreds of thousands of dollars lying around, especially on a history teachers’ salary.

Barrington Chambers, on the other hand, faced no such limitation, and bought two of the rings that she had dreamt most fondly of. They were matching, both gold inlaid with rubies, bigger than what Madeline would usually care for. But it speaks of ancient fashions and a love too big to contain, and she wants them.

They would be locked away until he chose to sell them again. Unworn and unappreciated.

Madeline moved on.

*****

_Shaky hands shove five coins into the coin slot of a washing machine. The woman wielding them takes a step back, eyeing the machine. Her hazel eyes linger over each button, over every setting, giving each one careful consideration. She slowly, carefully, selects the button that she wants to press, and quickly jabs it._

_Nothing happens._

_She squints, and prods another button. Then another, and another until it looks like she is trying to hack into the NSA with the buttons on this poor washing machine._

_Madeline has to help. It is entertaining, but it is also the saddest thing that she has ever seen._

_Madeline walks up to the machine next to the woman, just as she begins to curse under her breath._

_If she were more confident, she’d probably tap the woman on her shoulder and ask if she needed help. Instead, she goes about doing her laundry, every movement executed with about four times the drama necessary. She has to restart the process about twice, and sometimes mumbles instructions under her breath, as if reminding herself of the basic Laws of Laundry. Finally, the woman pays attention, and copies her movements exactly. She doesn’t even attempt to be covert about it. It’s endearing, and a part of Madeline wishes she could stare at the stranger just as blatantly as she was being stared at._

_They make it through the washer and dryer together. When Madeline turns to leave, she is stopped._

_“I’m Rosemarie. Wanna grab a coffee?”_

_Madeline hates coffee and later, at the Coffee Corner, she finds out that Rosemarie does too._

*****

They stock tea at their apartment—Maddie has peppermint and Rosemarie prefers ginger—and Madeline makes them both a cuppa before she heads off to work and Rosemarie jogs around their neighborhood, switchblade tucked into her pocket for protection.

When Madeline gets back at around 5, they’ll pour over blueprints together. Rosemarie will read them out and explain them to Madeline, as she does every time, because Maddie is hopeless with them.

Then, they’ll go over contingency plans, giggling and snorting as they quiz each other, like they’re prepping for a history test instead of a heist. Whenever Rosemarie hesitates for too long, Maddie will dig her fingers into her girlfriends’ side and Rosie will be forced to answer  
n between laughs and pleads for mercy.

(one time, maddie went for rosies feet instead, and rosie doesn’t hate brutus quite so much, now that he’s been caressed by maddies chipped manicure and serenaded by her obnoxiously adorable peals of laughter. hatred cannot be cured but it can be buried underneath love, until its needed again.)

They’ll talk about the score while Maddie prepares dinner. Rosie will spin a little love story about the person who once wielded the ancient tool that Maddie wanted to snatch, or some pottery that Maddie thought would look just grand on their table, being used as it was meant to. Or, Rosie’ll rant about what old coin has caught her eye this time, and why its historically significant, and what it’s made of, and what it’s worth, and what it’s worth to her. Maddie will cook with a small little smile on her face, always listening, and sometimes Rosie will go quiet for a moment, just looking at her, until the moment is broken when Madeline spills sauce all over herself and then they both can’t stop laughing.

Then the time will come, and they will go out together and get what they were after. When Maddie approaches what she wants, Rosie will grab her hand and they’ll grab it together. When it’s with Rosie, it feels less like defiling history and more like reviving it. When Rosie grabs her coin, Madeline is usually keeping watch, because Rosie likes to take them to high risk locations and Madeline will not let her get caught.  
They will stumble into their small apartment, their liberated goods hanging loose at their side while they clutch at each other instead.

*****

This time is different. Rosie does not laugh as loud when she is tickled, and she makes sure to keep her feet pressed against the ground, until her feet are sore. The stories she tells over the stove aren’t light and carefree. They’re unforgiving and vengeful and fixated on the past. Occasionally, Rosemarie will grab on to Maddie like she is afraid to lose her, like something wants to tear them apart. Madeline is preoccupied with her own thoughts, and she is shooting covert glances at Rosie every so often and smiling uncontrollably, and speculating about their future together.

When they leave for the night, neither of them talk much to each other. Everything about this was planned to the second, debated and debated until it was found suitable, and they are more focused on their own thoughts than on each other.

But their hands are clasped together, and neither is willing to relinquish their hold.  
It’s a huge manor that they’re robbing this time—not their first, certainly, but they usually try to avoid high profile robberies.

This one is necessary.

Rosemarie walks on sure feet, but trembling legs, towards her destination. She enters a security keycode that hasn’t been changed in the last decade or so, and she takes everything that she can see. Coins with edges worn down by the hands of a five year old heiress, and new coins that she never got to see, never got to hear her father talk about. 

They fall indiscriminately into her bag.

Maddie has wandered off, this time, because she has a secret mission of her own—one that she has carefully woven into their plan to avoid detection, both by the owner of the manor, and by Rosemarie. She’s in a room full of expensive artifacts—huge painting, antique tables, all worth millions. She is after something smaller.

She finds it, and shoves it into her pocket with shaking fingers.

They head home; Rosie has relaxed and Madeline has hidden her find away in her sock drawer.

*****

Their apartment has been traded in for a home. The downstairs is decorated with furniture from Target and Ashley’s and one odd old sofa that Madeline found on the street and insisted that they needed. The upstairs, where no guests are allowed, is decorated by more…antique pieces. Except the bed, which Rosie insists must be Tempur-Pedic and made in at least this decade.

Every morning, Madeline wakes up and makes two cups of tea—one peppermint, and one ginger, both with a dash of milk and a lot of love. They drink from cups that are at least three centuries old, and even Rosie’s sleep-clumsy limbs are careful not to chip them.  
Madeline heads to work, teaching history as if she doesn’t have a small museum in her home.

Rosemarie plans their next adventure in their office—a room lined with the coins that she had fell in love with as a child.

Over the course of the day, they will both turn their gaze to their ring finger, where a huge gold-and-ruby-ridden artifact looks back up at them.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for a Creative Writing. I forgot it existed, and then my girlfriend told me that she still thinks about it, two years later. So I posted it, in case there are other kleptomaniac lesbian history dweebs out there.


End file.
